


Tissue Shoulders

by brionypoisoned



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexuality Spectrum, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort/Angst, Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, First Kiss, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brionypoisoned/pseuds/brionypoisoned
Summary: “Martin, do you honestly think I went after you in the Lonely out of pity?”“Jon…” Martin began, but Jon cut him off.“No, do you really think that after months of begging you to leave Peter and to come back to us in the Archives, that I was doing it because of your top-notch research skills?”~*~My take on Jon and Martin's escape from the Lonely and to the safe house.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 25
Kudos: 285





	Tissue Shoulders

Jon and Martin made it out of the Lonely and back into the archives hand in hand. The office looked at first familiar and then, upon reflection, terribly different. Tapes and various papers littered the floor, and Jon’s chair lay crookedly on its side. The Not-Them had left some kind of magical scorch marks on the wall, and several bullet holes riddled the door. Jon stared at it, the too-thin barrier between him and whatever carnage lay in the corridor, filled with dread. Martin stood, dazed and glassy-eyed, holding on tightly to Jon’s hand. Reality, after the cold vagueness of the Lonely, felt overwhelming. From a distance, there came the sound of approaching sirens.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” Jon said. Martin simply nodded, blinking quite a bit and trembling. Neither of them moved, because there was nowhere to go. 

A grunting sound came from the hallway, and Jon and Martin both flinched, gripping one another. 

“…DAISY!?” Basira’s muffled but recognizable voice pierced the door. “ARE YOU THERE!?” 

“Basira!” Jon answered, running out of the office. Basira lay on the floor some way down the corridor, dragging herself along and leaving a trail of blood behind her. “You’re hurt!” Jon sputtered, kneeling down, not sure what to do to help. 

“You.” Basira sighed, rolling herself to her back and and closing her eyes. “Of course _you_ made it back. You bring him?” 

“Hullo.” Martin said, softly, from Jon’s office doorway. Of course it was the wrong thing to say, he just didn’t know what else to do.

“What happened? Are you hit?” Jon asked, glancing at Basira’s blouse, which was wet with blood around her waist.

“Caught in the crossfire.” Basira said, carefully keeping her breath steady. “I’m fine, I’ll be all right. Here.” She struggled to pull out a card from her jacket pocket. “Take this address. It’s a safe house. You and Martin… get out of here.”

“We can’t just leave you…”

“The fucking ambulance is on its way, they’ll just arrest you both if you’re here when it arrives. Get. Out.” Basira hissed. 

Jon followed Basira’s orders, too shell-shocked for anything else. He took Martin’s hand again as they ran for the tube stop. 

It took the two men a little over an hour to secure train tickets to Scotland. Jon used a random stranger’s credit card number, which came to him in a moment of Beholding-induced clarity, to book it. He would have probably felt guilty about it if he hadn’t been too strung out to feel anything. He and Martin sat next to eachother on the train, trying to blend in and not look like their whole lives were collapsing around them. They failed miserably of course, but if anyone noticed they didn’t say anything. It was not the first time the staff of a train car served people who were under extreme emotional distress. The woman who took Jon’s ticket assumed that someone in the gaunt and shaking man’s family had died unexpectedly or something. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but he didn’t see it. 

About an hour into the train ride Jon began to uncontrollably shake. A day’s worth of life or death adrenaline had left him full of energy that had to go somewhere. He kept thinking about all the innocent people in the library of the Magnus institute; the people gunned down senselessly because of _him_. He couldn’t catch his breath. 

Just as he was about to fully panic Jon felt a large, warm, sturdy arm wrap around his shoulders and pull him tight. Martin held Jon close and whispered into his ear, “Just breathe Jon, breathe. Deep breaths. Count to four while you inhale and count to four while you exhale.” Jon pressed his face into Martin’s soft, comforting shoulder and tried to do as asked. At first it was impossible, he was shaking too hard to breathe for a full count of four, but the attempt to do so at least cleared his mind of other thoughts. After a few minutes his shaking ceased, and he was able to breathe in fours comfortably. He remained pressed into Martin for the rest of the train ride, drifting off to sleep once or twice. 

Finding a cab to take them from the train station to the safe house was literal hell, but they finally managed it, and after dealing with a confusing garage door code and lock system the two men staggered into the small cottage in exhaustion. 

There were clearly two bedrooms in the house, but Jon and Martin climbed into bed together without question or debate. All they had with them were the clothes on their backs, and Jon only managed to unbutton his shirt halfway before passing out in exhaustion. They each kept waking at various points in the night and reaching for one another.

“I’m here, Martin.” Jon grumbled, once, in the darkness, taking Martin’s hand tightly. “You aren’t alone. I’m here.” 

~THE NEXT MORNING~

Martin stood in the much-too-small kitchen, staring intently at the tea kettle on the stove. He had woken up two hours ago, struck with such an overwhelming sense of self-doubt and embarrassment that he had physically cringed. He slid out of bed, leaving Jon asleep, and left to wash up. To his great relief the house appeared to be stocked with basic necessities. 

What had he been fucking thinking? How had he been so calm yesterday?

He thought about the way he had folded Jon into his arms so confidently on the train to calm him down and cringed again. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. 

The situation, to Martin, had become abundantly clear in the light of day. Jon, being the good man he was, had gone into the tunnels to rescue Martin, yet again, from one of his massive fuckups. In fact, Martin had fucked up so extensively that he had ended up in the Lonely, and Jon had had to go all the way into a freaking Entity’s realm to drag him out of it. He’d HAD to say he cared about Martin, that he needed Martin, to snap his idiot archival assistant out of it so he could go back to his real work. The archive was under attack! And Jon was wasting time on him! 

Of course Jon didn’t love him. Jon was just avoiding losing another staff member. 

And Martin, of course he’d _oh!_ he’d overreacted! He’d taken Jon’s hand! He’d held him like a partner… like a… _oh God_ … like a _lover!_ It was too embarrassing to contemplate! The worst thing in the world! 

It took him another full minute to realize that the empty burner in front of him was red hot while the kettle sat in the back corner, cold. 

“Shit.” Martin whispered, slamming the kettle into its correct spot as though attempting to punish it. “Useless. Idiot.” 

“Good morning.” A drowsy Jon greeted Martin from the kitchen doorway.

“Oh!” Martin jumped with a manic, shame-fueled energy. “I… I-I’m making tea.” He stuttered.

“Lovely.” Jon said, walking over the stove next to Martin, and, to Martin’s great shock, snuggling into his side. He even leaned his head into Martin’s arm with a little sigh, like they’d been married for 20 years and this was just something they did every morning. Martin’s brain ceased to function and he tensed up completely. After a few minutes Jon said, “God, Martin, I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I…” Martin took a cautious step back, forcing Jon to stand upright and look at him again. Jon gave Martin a small smile and looked up at him affectionately, face tilted slightly upwards. “Oh.” Martin whispered. 

Jon looked, as he usually did, like hell. Even after a lengthy sleep his eyes had dark circles, and his cheeks were sunken in and gaunt. His worm scars were dark and eye catching against his skin and his hair was in desperate need of a shampoo. Martin adored him. 

So caught up in affection and admiration for this man, Martin found himself unable to resist leaning forward. He kissed Jon, gently, softly, and oh… so tentatively, on the lips. 

Jon did not pull away. In fact, he leaned into the kiss, tilting his head to the side and reaching his arms around to Martin’s neck, pulling him even closer. 

“OK!” Martin said, pulling back with a shrill, panicked laugh.

“What? What?” Jon asked, alarmed at Martin’s sudden recoil. “Are you all right? Why are you laughing?” 

The laughter was a nervous response, the result of Martin’s unease and discomfort. His tendency to laugh when horrified was one of his least favorite personal traits. 

“Ok, I’m just going to need you to, for a minute, ah, just, humor me here, what… what the fuck is happening?” Martin asked. His voice cracked a bit on the curse. 

“I… we…” Jon said, biting his lip, a slight hint of recognizable annoyance appearing on his face. “We had to leave the Archives. We’re in Scotland, there was a shooting…” 

“Of course, yes, I know that.” Martin explained, “I mean… why is THIS happening? Between us?”

Jon looked confused, and slightly sad. 

“I… God Martin, I’m sorry. I thought… I thought I was quite clear yesterday.” 

“That you needed me to leave the Lonely, yes, that you needed me back in the Archives and not off with Peter, but…” Martin sighed, looking at the floor. “You don’t have to pretend, Jon. I’m so sorry I put you in this position. Yes, I love you, obviously, but you don’t love me and it’s fine, please don’t pity me like this. There’s just, there’s no need.” Martin found his voice shaking a bit at the end and hated himself for it.

The tea kettle began to whistle with unignorable urgency. Martin reached for it but Jon took it off the heat before Martin could and aggressively placed it on a trivet. He turned back to Martin, expression intense and serious.

“Martin, do you honestly think I went after you in the Lonely out of pity?” 

“Jon…” Martin began, but Jon cut him off.

“No, do you really think that after months of begging you to leave Peter and to come back to us in the Archives, that I was doing it because of your top-notch research skills?” 

“I…” Martin felt himself blush. There was no compulsion to the question, of course, so he remained silent.

“Do you think that after I woke up in the hospital I wanted it to be Basira who drove me home? Do you think I _shred to pieces_ an avatar of one of the Powers because of your crack filing skills?”

“Jon!” Martin chuckled nervously. 

“Martin, I have feelings for you. I have strong, confusing, sometimes very painful feelings for you, and this is not something that happens to me with a great deal of frequency.” 

Martin gaped at him, too stunned to respond.

“I love you.” Jon said. “I… I apologize for not being more clear. Also for shouting. I… erm, this isn’t how I imagined this conversation going at all, to be honest.” 

For a few moments the two men stared at one another in silence. 

“Would… would you like a cup of tea?” Martin asked softly, gesturing to the teapot. 

Jon’s face fell. Martin had brought him dozens of cups of tea, hundreds, probably, in the past few years. At first he’d found it annoying, but after a while he’d come to accept them as small, pleasantly consistent tokens of affection. But, in this context, the offer felt like a step backwards. 

“I’d really honestly rather not, at the moment.” Jon said.

“What would you rather do?” Martin asked, voice quiet, meeting Jon’s gaze directly. 

Jon stepped foward with determination, reaching for the sides of Martin’s face and pulling him down into a possessive kiss. This time, Martin kissed back without hesitation, closing his eyes and parting his lips slightly with a small moan.

“God… Jon, I’m so sorry…” He whispered.

“I swear, Martin, if you apologize one more time…” Jon trailed off before finishing the threat, wrapping his arms around Martin’s waist and pulling the man’s jumper off over his shoulders.

Martin pulled back, pupils blown, breathing heavily.

“I… I didn’t think you…??”

“I DO SOMETIMES, MARTIN.” Jon didn’t particularly feel like explaining the intricacies of asexuality to Martin, at least not yet, and simply continued to kiss the larger man with enthusiasm. “I’m sorry.” He apologized, as the two of them began to move towards the bedroom, leaving the tea kettle cooling and abandoned on the counter. “I don’t know why I keep snapping at you…” 

“Do you really love me?” Martin asked, stumbling over the threshold of the bedroom with Jon still in his arms, cheeks flushed. 

“I love you more than anything. I don’t deserve you.” Jon sputtered. “You’re so kind, and good, and I’m just such a prick to you all the time, really…”

“Oh shut up, Jon…” Martin pulled his Archivist down with him onto the bed.

_fin_


End file.
